They Actually Recruited Us?
by Shuggie
Summary: Starfleet Academy. They should probably reevaluate their recruitment techniques. Collection of short stories and drabbles based on the hilarity of TFLN and other movie/tv lines and the ridiculousness of college life.
1. Chapter 1

It wasn't until the morning after the shuttle arrived in San Francisco and he had been issued his cadet reds and room assignment that Leonard McCoy had finally worked all of the alcohol out of his system. And it was at that time that he realized what he had done. He had signed up with Starfleet.

Leonard sat up sharply, immediately regretting his movement when it felt like someone had taken an ice pick to his head. That's right. He had been smashed for the past couple of days, and he had really let loose on the shuttle ride. And he wasn't sure, but he might have thrown up on someone.

Leonard collapsed bonelessly back onto the bare mattress of his bed. He glanced around. The room was an average dorm size, the bed a twin. There wasn't another bed in the room, and considering the small living and kitchen area was only separated from the bedroom by a partition, he was sure he didn't have a roommate. Thank God. Having already gone through college, medical school, and having his own practice must have spared him that horror.

There was a small, practical voice in the back of his head that suggested he get up and take a look at the rest of his dorm before showering and going out to get necessities and acquaint himself with the campus before reviewing his schedule. The rest of his brain quickly rioted and violently suppressed that treacherous voice. Leonard decided that he was perfectly capable of lounging in his hungover misery for the rest of the day, however long that might be. He couldn't bring himself to look for a chrono.

With no excuse the next morning, Leonard dragged himself up from the bed and stumbled into the bathroom. He took a quick shower, which, without any shampoo or other toiletries, was just water washing off what filth it could. After dressing, Leonard found a PADD with information for new recruits. Locating a store, Leonard went out to get essentials.

Classes weren't set to begin for another week and a half. It left Leonard with plenty of time to go over regulations and campus maps. He didn't need to study for clinical rounds as if he were an intern again. Starfleet was kind enough to not put him through shit he already knew how to do.

Somehow, Leonard wasn't sure where it started, he got into a downward spiral thinking of everything that had led him to this point and everything he had left behind. He was reaching for a newly purchased bottle of bourbon when someone rang his door chimes. Leonard turned to stare at the door, his expression a mixture of irritability and curiosity. Who the hell would be knocking on his door? He didn't know anyone here, except the captain that had recruited him, and Leonard was certain the man had better things to do with his time than check on new cadets.

Leonard thumbed the release on the door, and it opened to reveal a blond haired young man. The man—kid really—had his mouth open to say something, but stopped, eyed Leonard up and down once, and said, "Wow, Bones, you clean up good."

Leonard blinked, completely perplexed. Bones?

"Yeah," the kid said, pushing past Leonard and walking in like he owned the place. "Yesterday you were all scruffy, but now you've got baby butt smooth cheeks and brushed hair." Absently, Leonard reached up to lay a hand on his cheek. He'd shaved right after getting back from the store.

He stared a bit stupidly at the kid, trying to figure out why he was in Leonard's dorm, and at the sight of his ridiculously blue eyes, something clicked. Leonard had met this kid on the shuttle yesterday. He'd sat by him, even shared a few sips from his flask. Then Leonard colored a bit. Shit, he had thrown up on someone. He'd thrown up on this kid. And then, the kid—Kirk, that was his name—had helped him off the shuttle. Things were fuzzy after that, but if Kirk knew where Leonard's room was, then he must have helped Leonard get all the way here.

"Listen, Kirk," Leonard started, but the kid help up a hand.

"Jim's fine," he said.

"Jim, then," Leonard said. "About yesterday—"

"What, you puking on me," Jim asked. "Don't worry about it. If it makes you feel any better, you're not the first person to do it. This girl I was having sex with once did it right in the middle. That part of it was gross, but the fact that she didn't let it stop her was pretty hot."

This was only the first of many, many instances in which Jim Kirk presented Leonard McCoy with Too Much Information. Leonard wasn't entirely sure how it happened, but somehow Jim integrated himself into Leonard's life. It was not unlike having a stalker. Jim always seemed to meet up with him on the way to and from classes. He seemed to know exactly when Leonard was done with a shift in the clinic and could meet up for dinner or drinks.

Jim also refused to call him by his given name. It was always Bones. It had taken a few minutes of careful thinking for Leonard to come up with a reason as to why Jim would possibly call him that. Looking back, it was kind of a stupid thing to say.

Leonard tried to get rid of the kid. He really did. He hadn't come to Starfleet to make friends. He was doing it to completely escape his old life. He was a bitter man, freshly divorced and still off balance from the death of his father. He wasn't really a pleasant person to be around, but it didn't seem to bother Jim. The kid also didn't seem to know how to take no for an answer and simply resolved to pester Leonard until the older man went out to the bars with him just to shut him up.

It was about the time that Leonard realized Jim had hacked the system to get his room codes that Leonard just gave up and accepted the fact that Jim Kirk was his new friend. Really he probably should have seen it coming when people started calling Leonard to come pick Jim up when he got too drunk to function on his own.


	2. Chapter 2

Nyota Uhura wasn't sure what she had done in a past life to get stuck with an Orion as a roommate. It wasn't that Gaila wasn't a nice person—actually, she was almost annoyingly friendly—it was just that in their first week on campus, Gaila had had sex on three different surfaces of their shared room with five different people. People, because Gaila did not discriminate between sexes. If it moved, she considered it fair game.

Nyota at first had felt a bit prejudiced in her assessment of Gaila's sexual activities, but she got over it quickly enough when Gaila casually mentioned that she promiscuous by Orion standards. And it wasn't that Nyota didn't enjoy sex. She just had a few more qualifications that had to be met before she jumped in.

Things improved marginally when classes started up. And Gaila was very understanding about Nyota's rule of no sexual conquests while she was in the room. Gaila was also to try to restrain from hitting on Nyota unless she had been drinking tequila shots.

Because Orion was not a part of the Federation, Gaila was required to go through the motions of getting proper identification cards. Her Starfleet papers went through without a hitch, but there was a minor foul up with the basic Federation card that would take another six weeks to fix. Gaila was beside herself, as it was that identification card that would allow her to get into bars where she could drink and pick up her next sexual partner.

Taking pity, Nyota had helped her to get a temporary fake card. A friend of hers who programmed simulations ran a little side business helping out underage students. It wasn't until that first night out at the bars that Nyota realized her mistake.

The next morning, Nyota, having had the foresight to properly rehydrate herself and take precautions against a hangover, awoke with only a fuzzy mouth to suggest how much drinking she had done. A quick brushing of her teeth and drinking of a glass of water, and she was fine. Gaila, on the other hand, buried her head under her pillows and loudly bemoaned her existence. When Nyota finally convinced her to at least sit up and take some medication, Gaila asked, "How much did I drink last night?"

"Well," Nyota said, handing over the glass of water, "you tried to scan your fake to get back into the dorm. When the lady at the desk told you it was the wrong card, you said, 'This is who I am Thursday nights.' I'm surprised she didn't write you up. The semester's only just started."

Gaila snorted into the glass, winced, and cradled her head.


	3. Chapter 3

Hikaru Sulu really got irritated when people assumed he was gay just because he studied botany. The fact that he could appreciate male attractiveness was beside the point. This was the twenty-third century, after all. But if he heard one more crack about flowers from his roommate, he was going to encourage one of his more vicious plants to eat the jackass's fingers off. Plus the fact that he'd no longer be able to jerk off while Hikaru was trying to sleep _in the same room_ would be an added bonus.

But at least the guy was fun to get drunk with, and really, what more could a guy ask for in a roommate? Well, Hikaru could think of a lot of things, but at least they had that. And the guy had some really good pot connections. Like, really good pot. They weren't sober for the entire second month of the fall semester.

"I'm going to make some mac and cheese," his roommate said the morning after a particularly epic trip. "You in?"

"Yeah, just make sure you cook it all the way through this time," Hikaru called, thumbs flying wildly over the old fashioned game controller that his roommate had found in a thrift store.

"Microwave minutes are longer than normal minutes, and neither of us had that kind of time," he retorted. Silence fell between them, broken only by shuffling in the kitchen unit and the gunshots from the video game.

"Dude," his roommate called, "why is there a cactus in the microwave?"

Hikaru halted his assault on the Soviet forces and considered. Did he own a cactus or anything that might resemble one? "Don't worry about it," he said with a shrug.

"Okay, I'll put it in the refrigerator," his roommate said.


	4. Chapter 4

Christine Chapel was a nurse. Hell, she was an exceptional nurse. She was professional, had a caring bedside manner, and could hold her own against any doctor who thought he was God's gift to mankind by simple virtue of his medical degree. She had a razor sharp wit, and everyone knew that you couldn't pull a thing past her.

Unless she had had an upwards of three ounces of hard liquor. Then, anything goes.

Christine was at one of the more popular bars near campus. Her friends were out on the dance floor, but she had pushed her way up to the crowded bar, hoisted herself up, and leaned in a manner that pushed up her breasts just so.

"That is unfair," a voice said into her ear. Christine almost jumped, but when she turned her head, she recognized the teacher's assistant for her intermediate physics class.

"Hi, Scotty," she said. "Want something?"

Montgomery Scott grimaced and held up his glass of some dark golden liquor. "I've seen what you try to pass off as alcohol. No thank you." Still, he pushed some smaller man out of the way and leaned on the bar next to her. They made light conversation, Christine squeezing her breasts together as the bartender made his way over. After taking her order, Montgomery complimented her on her technique, and she asked him to dance.

At some point, around the time she was beginning to find standing difficult, Christine lost her friends. Yanking on Montgomery's shirt, she said, "Bring me to the bathroom."

Slurring slightly, he said, "I can't pinpoint which part right now, but I'm about ninety-four percent sure there's something inappropriate about that."

"Whatever," Christine said. "I need to pee so I can fit more margaritas in me." And if they ended up making out in the line for the bathrooms, well, Christine was sure that would only help her lab grades.


	5. Chapter 5

Jim cursed as Leonard jabbed the hypospray into his neck. Rubbing the sore area, Jim said, "You know, those things aren't supposed to hurt. And I'm pretty sure it's completely against the Hippocratic Oath for doctors to take pleasure in causing pain to their patients."

"The Hippocratic Oath doesn't say anything about morons who continuously strive to start bar fights three nights a week and have sex with strangers in questionable locations the other four, only to then burden themselves on doctors with better things to do," Leonard retorted, but he didn't deny that administering the hypo with more force than was necessary was one of life's little pleasures.

"It was a laundry room," Jim protested. "Things get cleaned in there."

"Then why am I giving you a penicillin shot," he asked. "Again. Also, let me take a moment to wonder at how you're not allergic to this stuff."

"I'm not allergic to everything. Just most things," Jim said.

Leonard shook his head, returning his supplies to his medical bag. "Really, Jim, you're not the least bit picky about who you hook up with. Have a little dignity."

"No way, Bones," Jim crowed. "Chicks are like Pokémon. You've gotta catch 'em all!"

Leonard turned to stare at him incredulously. "What the hell is a Pokémon?"

Jim rolled his eyes. "It's a Romanized contraction of the Japanese video game franchise Pocket Monsters. It was way popular in the 1990s. Come on, Bones, we've been friends for how many months now? I make obscure references to things from the twentieth and twenty-first centuries. Try to keep up."


	6. Chapter 6

James T. Kirk had a reputation.

When Gaila first started hearing rumors about the other cadet, she was immediately intrigued. It seemed that he enjoyed sex as much as she did. Curiosity aroused, she had mentioned the man to Nyota, who had immediately tried to shut the idea down. Apparently, Nyota was convinced that Jim Kirk was nothing more than an arrogant hick. Gaila had needed that term explained to her.

But Gaila was intrigued, so when she finally ran into Kirk coming out of a simulation around the end of November, she wasted no time. "Cadet Kirk," she said. "I am Gaila, and we should have sex."

His brows shot up to his hairline, and he laughed, a deep booming sound from in his chest. He slung an arm around her shoulders, saying, "Miss Gaila, I like you. I think the two of us will get along just fine."

And fine they did get along. Sex with Jim Kirk was nothing short of amazing. The things he could do with his tongue! He had earned every whisper of his reputation, and by then end of their romp—which had consisted of several orgasms—Gaila had never been more wiped out or more satisfied.

"That," Kirk said, as they lay sprawled on the floor between her bed and Nyota's, "was so much win."

Gaila cocked her head. "What is this win," she asked. She knew the definition of the word, but Jim's usage was peculiar. And so he propped himself up on his forearms and proceeded to explain to her how to use the words win, epic, and fail to describe situations. He then showed her the gestures he called high-fives and fist-bumps.

Needless to say, Gaila went ahead and labeled that afternoon as the best sexual experience ever. Nyota was less than thrilled.


	7. Chapter 7

Sometimes—aka, the mornings after Jim went out drinking—Leonard wanted to build a time machine and go back to the twentieth century, find the person who had been responsible for creating text messages, and punch him square in the face.

He had awoken that morning to no less than seventeen messages from Jim on his PADD describing—in horrific detail—all the things Jim would have done for a French fry. One French fry. One single French fry. He could have at least held out for a pack of them.

Leonard scolded himself for reading through every single one of the messages, but really, it was like a car crash that you just couldn't tear your eyes from in the hopes that you'd get a glimpse of the body.

As he had rounds at the clinic that morning, Leonard got up and took a shower. Half dressed, he went around to his kitchen unit to get some coffee and stopped short. Jim was lying in front of his open pantry, cuddling with the blender and using a box of cereal as a pillow. There were three empty wrappers of sliced cheese by his feet along with an opened jar of peanut butter. Completely passed out, Jim's mouth was open and he was snoring.

Leonard only questioned two things about the whole scenario. First, how had Jim managed to get inside his room without waking him? Leonard was a light sleeper; he had to be with his job. Second, how much had the kid drank that, considering he made it all the way to Leonard's dorm, he hadn't managed to crawl into Leonard's bed?

The first few times that had happened, Leonard had tried to kick Jim out, but similar to the way Jim had taken to simply waltzing into Leonard's room without announcing himself, Jim just crawled right back in and latched onto Leonard until the older man just gave up.

Which led to another question: was he that starved for human contact that he'd let his male best friend cuddle—because there was no other word for it than that—with him or was this just going to be the way that his friendship with Jim developed? Either way it involved a lot of physical contact.

Leonard leaned over Jim and pulled out the creamer, making his way back over to the coffee pot. He never replicated his coffee. Some people said there was no difference, but Leonard was sure the taste was off. He didn't bother to wake Jim up. A quick glance had assured him that Jim hadn't gotten into any brawls at the bar. If he had any new STDs, well, a couple more hours wouldn't make much difference.

At the clinic, Leonard changed into his scrubs, synced up his PADD at the nurses' station and began his rounds. He checked on some of his overnight patients, stood in for Dr. Rao quizzing the interns, and did surgical consulting on some torn cartilage.

He was attempting to make off with the last chocolate pudding when Christine Chapel found him. "Dr. McCoy," she said, materializing at his shoulder. Leonard jumped about a foot into the air.

"Dammit, woman," he gasped, a hand flying to his heart. "How many times I got to tell you? Don't sneak up on me like that!" She made no noise when she walked. It was very off-putting.

She gave him a smile that one might give to humor a young child. If she weren't such an astoundingly efficient nurse, Leonard would have wiped that smirk off her face personally. "New patient for you in room two-forty. Just a physical."

"Couldn't you give it to someone not on their lunch break," Leonard asked.

"What lunch break," Christine asked. "You only leave this building to go to class and the bars. Even your pretty boy boyfriend can't drag you out of here."

"I'm not going to dignify that with a response, because if Jim Kirk were my boyfriend, God, I'd kill myself," Leonard said, frowning when he saw that someone had snatched away the pudding while his back was turned. Christine was grinning.

"You didn't need that anyway, too much sugar," she said, nearly skipping off. "Room two-forty, doctor."

Leonard grumbled under his breath the entire walk up to the examination room. Most people would have seen it as a warning sign that no one looked twice; they just took one wide step to the side to keep out of swinging range.

He synced his PADD to the patient's information and walked into the room. Glancing at the chart, he said, "Hello, I'm Dr. McCoy, and I'll be—"

"Oh, you are Jim's doctor," a chipper voice cried. Leonard looked up to see an Orion woman perched on the biobed. Her bright red curls, along with her standard issue cadet reds, blindsided him and he was left feeling like he'd been slapped by Christmas.

"Ex—excuse me," he asked.

"Jim Kirk's doctor," she said, scooting closer to the edge of the biobed. "He has told me much about you, and I am very glad to finally meet you."

"You're Gaila," he said, perhaps a bit stupidly, but she didn't seem to notice. She simply smiled, stretching gold painted lips.

Oh, yeah, Jim had told Leonard all about Gaila. Apparently, she was his sexual soulmate and they were destined to have the most epic bromance ever. Although, Leonard had to admit, a girl who could complete all the holes in your porn collection and then gave you a high five after the act was pretty good to keep around. If, of course, you were still a God damned child.

It was about that time that Leonard noticed that Gaila was eyeing him up and down, and he felt a little bit violated when she grinned at him. "You are much prettier than Jim said," she declared.

"I—_what_?"

"Yes, you have very nice lips," Gaila said. "Jim did not give me details about them."

"You and Jim talked about how _pretty_ I am," Leonard asked abashed.

"Of course," she said. "We were assessing the sexual qualities of our friends. So certainly you were brought up. We also had a very long discussion about my roommate." She paused briefly. "Oh, I suppose it is the word pretty that troubles you. That is merely my assessment. Jim referred to you as _smoking_. He was particularly fascinated with the shape of your buttocks."

She leaned around and glimpsed down at said area. Leonard jumped back. She nodded in approval. "Yes, they do look nice in your scrubs, aren't they called? But Jim says that they look much nicer in denim. You should wear this denim and come to have drinks with me."

God Lord, she was forward. "Um, I don't—I mean—"

She laughed. "Oh, Jim has already told me that you are sexually prude. Don't worry, I don't expect you to sleep with me. Although for future reference, I am more than willing. But Jim and I are friends, and I would like to also be with you."

Not five minutes later, Gaila had synced up their comms and was gone from the room, assuring Leonard that she would call him later that evening. Leonard wasn't entirely sure he ever even finished up her check-up.


	8. Chapter 8

Jim Kirk literally skipped into Captain Christopher Pike's office. Pike arched a brow at the young man. There were moments—like this one—when he wondered what in the hell he had been smoking when he decided to recruit the kid into Starfleet. The boy had a criminal record, a very obvious distaste for authority, and was self-destructive.

Pike had learned all that just from briefly speaking with the bartender and skimming over Kirk's file. Watching him, getting reports from his instructors, and just listening to gossip told him so much more. In his first semester alone, Kirk had been called arrogant, self-satisfied, and every word in every Federation language meaning the same thing. The kid was smart—stupidly so—and good looking, and he knew it.

He was still getting into bar fights, which usually seemed to start because he was hitting on someone's girlfriend. Or boyfriend. Apparently Jim Kirk didn't discriminate. Pike was just glad Kirk had managed to make friends with a doctor.

Pike did his best to keep tabs on Kirk. He had personally recruited the kid, and he stood by what he had told Kirk in that bar in Iowa. Kirk had the ability and potential to be something great. It was in his blood. He knew Kirk wasn't doing this for the greater good or to make a difference out there in the vastness of the universe. He was doing it because Pike had dared him to do better than George Kirk.

Pike was personally invested in Jim Kirk's success at the Academy and beyond. He'd made several bets with fellow commanding officers, and damn if he was going to lose a cent.

But unfortunately, keeping tabs on Kirk also meant trying to talk some sense into him when he pulled any of his hair brained stunts. It wouldn't do to have the kid kicked out of the Academy because of a party. The latest of which had involved an attempt to turn the Olympic sized pool in the recreation center into Jell-O.

"Sit down, Cadet Kirk," Pike said.

Kirk very nearly dove for one of the chairs positioned before Pike's desk. When his body dropped into it, his grin fell into an expression of sheer disappointment. Pike arched a brow. "Can I make a suggestion, sir," Kirk asked.

Pike sighed heavily. Knowing the kid as well as he was getting to, Pike could tell that Kirk wouldn't concentrate on a word Pike had to say until he had gotten in his piece. "Go ahead, Kirk," he said.

"You should totally get some spinning chairs for in here," Kirk said. "Way more fun than these. I don't like them. You don't even have to buy it. I'll go get it and leave it in here. You call me in often enough that I should get my own chair. It's only right."

Pike regarded Kirk incredulously. Kirk was entirely aware that Pike had called him in here to chastise him over that Jell-O stunt, and he was talking about spinning chairs? "Kirk, have you been drinking?"

"I'm not drunk," Kirk said with a noncommittal shrug. Pike stopped himself from burying his face in his hands just in time. Christ, it was like having a child. Except this child had legal access to liquor. And Cadet McCoy was putting up with this kid everyday? Pike was going to recommend him for a rank promotion.


	9. Chapter 9

Leonard got the heads up call from Nyota Uhura of all people. He was friendly enough with her, knowing her both from Jim's futile pursuits and from spending time with Gaila. He knew her first name and was permitted to use it. It drove Jim nuts.

"_I just saw Kirk out,"_ she said.

"God damn it," Leonard muttered.

Nyota laughed. _"Thought you should know. Weren't you going to try to take his ID cards?"_

"I did," Leonard grumbled, heading out the door. Jim had a major presentation the next morning for his tactical analysis class. Leonard was well aware that Jim hadn't done anything to prepare. He seemed to be intending to wing it, but hell if Leonard was going to let that happen. This presentation was important. It was going to determine whether or not Jim was qualified to advance to the next course level. And for some ungodly reason, Leonard cared that the kid did well. Jim had been talking about going out that night, and in retaliation, Leonard stole his ID cards.

Getting Jim's whereabouts from Nyota, Leonard headed out into San Francisco. He stormed into their usual haunts, places where the bartenders and bouncers knew them well and they weren't required to show ID anymore, which is where someone in Jim's situation with a brain would have gone. But no one had seen Jim that night. Leonard tried to call Jim, but he wasn't answering his comm.

Leonard was actually starting to get concerned when a loud voice called out, "BONES!" Leonard spun around, but there wasn't anyone behind him. Arching a brow, he looked around and finally spotted Jim. Then he slammed his palm to his forehead, running his hand down his face in pure exasperation.

Jim was standing in the alley between two bars, leaning heavily against the wall as if it were the only thing holding him up. It probably was. He was grinning widely, and in his hand, he was swinging around a bottle of some clear liquor.

"Jim, you moron," Leonard snapped, storming up to him. "What in the hell are you doing back here? It's filthy."

"I'm getting my drink on," Jim slurred.

"God dam it," Leonard said. "You know, I took your ID so that you couldn't go out."

"Hey, man, you don't need an ID to drink rum in an alley," Jim said in a tone which suggested that he thought himself quite wise.

"You would if a cop came by," Leonard said. "What made you think this was a good idea?"

"You took my cards," Jim said. "And I hadn't restocked from last weekend yet."

Leonard heaved a longsuffering sigh. He was too old for this shit. He grabbed the rum bottle from Jim and would have very much liked to toss it away, but really, alcohol was alcohol. Something then occurred to him. "Jim, if I took your cards and you were out of booze at your place, where did you get this?"

Jim then grinned at him, partly coyly, partly mock innocence, and partly an attempt to look ashamed but not at all succeeding. "It might be best if you don't know," he finally said.

Well, there it was. STD treatments all around when they got back to Leonard's dorm.


	10. Chapter 10

When the Xenolinguistics Club arranged to have a cultural festival, Nyota delighted in opportunity to interact with so many different species. It was a real test of her impressive skills. She was greatly looking forward to the dinner party that the club would be throwing the last night of the festival until Gaila came skipping into their room with the news that Jim Kirk had asked her to accompany him to the dinner.

It was not that she didn't love Gaila. Gaila was her best friend, and she adored the Orion girl more than she would have ever thought possible when they had first gotten their room assignments. But when Gaila and Jim Kirk were together, God, it was like—well, really Nyota didn't have an accurate description of what it was like. Maybe like every frat party she had ever seen in movies. It was sex and innuendo and booze, all the way. They were insufferable. She couldn't handle it alone.

"You are going to the Xenolinguistics cultural dinner with me tomorrow night, and I don't care what you have to do to make yourself free. You will be there," she said, cornering Leonard McCoy at the Academy clinic the afternoon before the dinner. Leonard had dropped his PADD and stylus and nearly lost his balance. The blonde nurse he had been walking with was laughing uproariously.

"What," Leonard asked, his voice half an octave higher and accent a bit more noticeable, "is wrong with you women and sneaking up on me like that?"

"Eighteen-hundred hours," Nyota said, ignoring his question and jabbing a dark finger at his chest twice.

"You're a cruel woman," he said the next night, as they took their seats at a table with Jim and Gaila, both of whom crowed loudly at Leonard's appearance.

"I'm not suffering this alone," Nyota said. "And Jim Kirk is your responsibility." It must have been a sign of how far gone he was that Leonard didn't protest that statement. They quickly ordered their drinks, Leonard a straight bourbon and Nyota a glass of white wine.

Unfortunately, it didn't take Jim and Gaila long before they were on their favorite subjects. Sex, sex, and sex. They were currently running through all the people in the room they had ever had encounters with. It was a disturbingly high count.

"Oh, man, her too," Jim said, pointed unabashedly across the room. "She called my dick a wiener. Really, if you're still doing that, just stay home."

"He lasted, and I'm not under-exaggerating, a grand total of fifteen seconds," Gaila said, nodding to one of the wait staff.

"After that guy, Bones seriously had to give me seven different hypos," Jim shared. Nyota turned to Leonard and grimaced. He returned the expression.

"I once had a woman who had to use her comm. light to find my clitoris under the sheets," Gaila recalled. "She was very terrible at a lesbian encounter. Sometimes, my vagina makes bad decisions like it's her job."

Jim nodded sagely. "Yeah, there are times I wish my dick could take responsibility for his own actions."

That was about where Nyota finally lost it. "Oh my God," she said, a bit loudly. She slammed her hands a little too forcefully on the tabletop and said, "Leonard, let's go mingle."

"Please, God, can we," he asked, throwing back the rest of his drink and hurrying away from the table with her.


	11. Chapter 11

Commander Spock was the first Vulcan to ever turn down a spot in the Vulcan Science Academy. The Elders of his planet found it even more astounding that he had turned them down in favor of attending Starfleet Academy. Spock had never admitted to having made that decision out of spite. He was sure that his parents knew and that the Elders could come to the same conclusions, but Spock had never, nor did he intend to, admitted it.

Spock had excelled in his studies, as was expected. He graduated at the top of his class and continued on at the Academy teaching the newer recruits. It was in his introductory level interspecies ethics class that he first met Nyota Uhura. She was an excellent student. She always sat in the front row, dutifully taking notes even as her peers daydreamed or whispered conversations.

She was the first human, after his mother, to ever pronounce his full name correctly.

When she applied to serve as his teaching assistant for phonology, he readily hired her. She did not disappoint him. She was most efficient in organizing study sessions for the students, she quickly collected, graded, and returned papers, and she proved an excellent source of information for languages with which Spock was less familiar. She was fluent in well over half of the languages and dialects spoken throughout the Federation.

It was easy to call her friend. She provided stimulating conversation, and they shared similar values. He was quite pleased to take evening meals with her or even meet her off campus for drinks—not that the alcohol actually affected his system, but some mixtures did provide a pleasant taste.

Their relationship continued to progress. On most days, Spock was entirely convinced that it had been a logical course of action. But there were a few days that he wondered otherwise. But on those days, a voice in side of his head, which sounded remarkably like his dear mother, reminded him that he was half human as well as Vulcan. He was entitled to emotion. After all, he could and would readily admit that he loved his mother very much. And he had not yet been presented with a logical reason as to why loving Nyota was any different.

They did not flaunt or parade the nature of their relationship. They were not embarrassed—which would be highly illogical—but they did believe that what was between them was their own business. Spock had made mentions of Nyota to his mother when they spoke, and he was sure she had passed the information along to his father. As far as Spock knew, Nyota had only informed her roommate, the Orion named Gaila, of what transpired between them.

Nyota had said that she had only even told Gaila because if she had to endure one more of the Orion's wild scenarios of where and with whom she spent so much time that she would have done something regrettable to the other woman.

Spock settled into the comfort of his room. It was nearing 0200. He had just finished meditating, and, having had a particularly good night's sleep the previous night, he decided to spend the remainder of the night catching up on some recreational reading.

He had just pulled the file up on his PADD when his comm. chimed. He glanced over to see that the call was coming in from Nyota. He knew that she had planned to spend the night out with friends. They were to go out dancing and drinking. Noting the time, Spock knew that establishments would be declaring last call.

Rather than unnecessarily come to false conclusions as to why she was calling, Spock answered the comm. "Spock," he said.

"_Spock, hey,"_ Nyota chirped. Spock blinked. Odd.

"Nyota, it is quite late," he said. "Are you well?"

"_I'm great,"_ she said. _"Like, really great. What are you doing?"_

"I have just sat down with the novel that I discussed with you the other day," Spock said. In the background, he could hear many voices and pulsing music that dance bars liked to play. He was not at all fond of such things. The repetitive lyrics and crude base usage were primal and unsophisticated.

"_I need to tell you something. It's super important. Can you hear me? Are you listening?"_

"I am listening," he said.

"_One day, I am going to name my child Veloci Raptor. You can be a part of its life if you want, but that's what I'm naming it. Because I have the vagina,"_ she declared proudly.

Both of Spock's brows shot up for his hairline. He brought the comm. away from his ear, staring at it as if he were quite sure that it was malfunctioning. Despite the fact that he held it from his head, he could still pick up the small skirmish that happened next.

"_Nyota, who is that?" _

"_It's Spock."_

"_What? Why are you calling him?"_

"_Because he's my boyfriend."_

"_You just told him you have the vagina."_

"_I think he knows." _

"_Give me your comm."_

"_No, I want to talk to him about Veloci."_

"_In the morning, you're going to rethink that and come to the conclusion that it's a horrible name. And you're going to be really embarrassed about calling Commander Spock." _

"_If you talk that way, I won't let you be godmother. And what's wrong with Veloci? Say it. Veloci Raptor. It has a beautiful ring to it, very elegant. I know. I'm a linguist. Hey! Give me that back!"_

"_Commander Spock,"_ the new voice, which Spock had recognized as Gaila's, asked.

"Yes, Cadet," Spock said.

"_You will be happy to know that Nyota is not pregnant. She's just had a few too many Grape Passions,"_ Gaila explained. _"But I'm sure I'm speaking for her sober self when I ask if you wouldn't mind just forgetting that she called you."_

"I will not forget this encounter, Cadet Gaila," Spock said. "There is no reason that I should."

He only just made out Gaila's annoyed grumble. _"Then, perhaps you could just not bring it up in conversation,"_ she offered.

"As there would be no reason for me to do so, I am not adverse to your suggestion," he said. Gaila seemed pleased enough with this and promised to get Nyota home and into bed. They ended the call, and Spock sat back, heaving the closest thing a Vulcan could to an exasperated sigh as he recounted Nyota's illogical outburst.

Rationally speaking, he supposed that every creature needed to imbibe in mild stimulants on occasion. If these substances were designed to loosen inhibition, well, Nyota certainly hadn't been the one to create such a device. Content, Spock returned to his PADD.

Veloci Raptor. _Velociraptor_. An extinct genus of dromaeosaurid theropod dinosaur that had lived approximately 75 to 71 million years ago in Earth's Cretaceous time period.

Illogical.


	12. Chapter 12

Leonard stormed into his dorm room, and as the door hissed shut behind him, he desperately wished it was an old fashioned hinged door so he could slam it for all it was worth. Instead, he settled with throwing his medical bag.

"Jesus!" Jim, who had been walking out from Leonard's room, ducked, and the bag sailed over his head. Picking himself up off the floor, Jim looked at Leonard incredulously. "God, Bones, what's the matter with you? You look like you want to rape someone's good day."

"The level of bullshitery I got to put up with is outstanding," Leonard grumbled, dropping heavily onto his couch.

Jim settled onto the other end of the couch, lounging in a way that he knew made him look entirely too appealing. Not that Leonard cared either way. "Wow, you're really irritated. You sound like you just walked out of a cotton field." Time away from Georgia had mellowed out Leonard's accent. However, it came out full force when he was particularly angry, upset or drunk.

"Want to rant about it," Jim asked.

"If I relive that, I'm just gonna end up stabbing you with some hypos," Leonard said.

"To the bars," Jim cried, standing to make a dramatic pose. And for once, Leonard had absolutely no objections.

When they walked into their favorite haunt, Jim called over to the bartender, "Hey, Matt, it's been a long day."

"Go set up shop then, boys," the man said. "I've got you covered."

"It's a testament to our alcoholism that the bartender knows what drinks to give us based on what kind of day we've had," Jim said as they slid into their usual booth. It was early in the evening, and the place was only seeing light business. But it was a Friday. It would get packed soon enough.

Matt came up to their table within a few minutes, two Budweiser classics and four shots of Jack Daniels on his tray. "Just whistle when you're ready for the next round," he said, patting Leonard on the shoulder.

"I'm totally okay with this problem," Jim said, throwing back the first shot with Leonard.

Somewhere around the sixth shot, Leonard decided he was really glad that Jim was such an outgoing people person. There was no way that he would have made such good friends with the bartender on his own. And if he wasn't on such friendly terms with the bartender, Leonard had no doubt that there would be significantly less alcohol in his life.

At one point much later in the night, they ran into Nyota and Gaila. The girls had a fairly easy time convincing the men to join them on the dance floor. Whereas Leonard and Nyota danced a bit more civilly, Jim and Gaila pretty much got each other off under the flashing lights. Nyota quickly made Gaila promise not to go home with Jim and leave her alone again, and Jim pouted, retaliating by bothering her for her name for the next hour.

As the girls were on a bar hopping mission that night, they left sometime around 2300. Leonard retreated back to their booth, signaling Matt to bring him a glass of bourbon. Jim continued as only Jim could. He drank plenty, practically flouncing from the bar to dance floor and back to the booth.

There was nearly an altercation at one point when Jim tried to hit on some blond girl while her boyfriend was standing next to her. Luckily for Jim, Leonard was in the vicinity and ushered him away. "It was pretty obvious she wasn't single," he scolded, words only slightly slurred.

"Everyone's single if you try hard enough," Jim huffed, stumbling out of Leonard's hold and back onto the dance floor.

The next morning, Leonard woke up in his bathroom, a pillow providing some cushioning as he leaned up against the toilet rim. His head was pounding, and he admonished himself for the millionth time since becoming friends with Jim. He was too old for this shit.

He could hear noise coming from his kitchen unit, and he assumed Jim was looking for something to eat. Grabbing the pillow and wrapping up in the discarded blanket, Leonard shuffled into his common room. He curled onto the couch pitifully just as Jim came out of the kitchen unit with two cups of coffee. He handed one to Leonard and dropped into place beside him. "I think you're going to need to wash your sheets," Jim said.

"Jim," Leonard growled angrily.

"No, not like that," Jim said quickly. "I was probably too drunk to jerk off or anything. And I didn't puke. That was all you. No, I woke up in a pool of alcohol sweat. If we wring out the sheets we could probably make a decent cocktail. God, I swear, I'm like one of those toads that you lick to get high or find a prince. Except, when you lick me, you find a drunk whore."

"Whore's right," Leonard grumbled. "How much of last night do you remember?"

"It was a whirlwind of passion," Jim answered.

Leonard snorted, instantly regretting that decision. "You made out with five girls, and _excuse me while I count how many guys." _

Jim scoffed. "You're just jealous because I haven't made out with you in, like, three months."

Leonard stopped to consider this. "We do have an alarmingly high drunken make-out record."

Jim shrugged. "We're both hot. You should stop worrying about it."


	13. Chapter 13

Kevin Riley stumbled off of his friend's couch and into the kitchen unit. It had been a long night. As he poked around through the refrigerator, another young man fell out into the common room. "Oh, hey man, you seen Hikaru?"

Kevin shook his head. "The last thing I remember was those two girls playing animal kingdom with the animal crackers and that guy crying when the lions ate the giraffes. Did you check his room?"

"That's probably a good place to start," Hikaru's roommate said. Kevin wondered if it made him a bad person that he couldn't remember the guy's name. Seriously, they'd known each other for nearly a year now. But then again, they only ever hung out drunk or high, so really, Kevin couldn't be blamed.

In the back of the refrigerator, Kevin finally spotted a carton of orange juice. Heaving a sigh of relief, he pulled it out. With the hangover he was currently sporting, every other drink in the refrigerator was nothing short of poisonous.

Kevin popped open the top and took a generous gulp straight from the carton. He paused, swallowed, and smacked his lips oddly. Something wasn't right. He checked the expiration date, but it still had a good two weeks before it went bad.

The roommate came back out. "Dude's MIA," he announced. "What's the matter?"

Kevin shoved the carton into his hands. "Drink that and tell me what's wrong with it."

The roommate checked the expiration date first, and then peeked inside before smelling it. Finding nothing wrong on the surface, he took a wary sip. "No vodka," he diagnosed.

Kevin snapped his fingers. "That's it," he said, taking the carton back. He lifted a box of cereal from the pantry and went out of the kitchen unit to find a movie to watch. The roommate wasn't far behind.

It was a good few hours that they spent lounging around before the door hissed open and Hikaru slunk inside. Kevin held up the orange juice in greeting, and Hikaru dropped onto the other end of the couch.

"So," he said a few moments later. "Finally tally from last night would be eighteen beers, four shots of Bailey's, two shots of vodka and a glass of champagne. I vomited in the yard after losing my comm. in a field for eight hours. And I quite possibly played tag with myself."

"Man, I haven't played tag in years," the roommate said nostalgically.


	14. Chapter 14

Leonard sat half slumped in his seat. Thank God this was a big lecture hall class or else his massive hangover would be all the more obvious. He really needed to stop falling for Jim's wounded puppy face and letting the kid talk him into going out drinking during the week. Especially when he had classes this early.

And for Christ's sake, why did he have a class this early? He was an upperclassman.

Jim was relentless. He had dragged Leonard out to no less than five bars and then proceeded to disappear. Probably with yet another conquest. Irritable, for far more reasons than he probably should be, Leonard had started downing shots. It was no small wonder that he had woken up in his dorm and in his bed. The fact that he was still a little bit drunk was beside the point.

He may or may not have been forced to stop at a small coffee shop on the way to class to puke in the bathroom for fifteen minutes. The employees and customers had shot him less than pleased glares when he stumbled his way out of the shop. Leonard didn't care. He was a doctor, dammit.

Who's brilliant idea had that been?

And so Leonard sat in class, desperately wishing that something in the room would explode so that the instructor would cancel and let him go home. The voice in his head—which was beginning to sound more and more like Jim Kirk everyday, which greatly disturbed Leonard—chastised him for not skipping. It wasn't like he was getting anything from being in the class that morning anyway. But Leonard had some small manner of pride. He was capable of getting up, so there was no excuse to not come to class.

As Leonard was trying to melt into his chair, his PADD buzzed from the depths of his bag. He fished it out and opened the message. It was from Jim.

"_Guess where I woke up this morning. If you guessed hospital, you, sir, are correct!"_

Leonard was on his feet in an instant, grabbing his bag and nearly tripping his way to the center aisle. And if he knocked a few people on the head with his bag in his haste, well, they shouldn't have been in his way. Leonard all but ran through campus towards the Academy clinic. His mind was rushing with everything that could have possibly gone wrong after he lost Jim last night. Jim's jovial tone in the message was absolutely no indication of his actual condition. Jim was notorious for making light of serious injury.

Leonard burst through the clinic doors. The nurses at the front station hardly spared him a glance. He prowled through the halls until he rounded a corner and nearly collided with Christine Chapel. She took one look at him and was unable to contain the bark of laughter. He glared at her, but after working with her for three years, it was beginning to lose its affect.

"Lose something," Christine asked.

"Where is he," Leonard demanded.

She smiled widely at him, her blue eyes twinkling. "Down in the cafeteria," she said. "Don't worry, he's fine." But Leonard was already storming down to the mess.

When he got down there, Jim was seated at a table, happily digging into a plate of eggs and dipping his bacon into maple syrup. There were two nurses seated across from him, laughing and flirting.

Leonard came up behind Jim, his face etched with hungover fury. The nurses glanced up, eyes wide, and quickly—wisely—scrambled up from their seats. "Hey, what's the matter," Jim called after them, glancing over his shoulder to see Leonard. "Oh, hey, Bones," he said cheerfully. "Check this out. I've totally found my new breakfast spot. Hospital cafeteria. Nobody asks questions here. They all just assume shit went down."

Leonard reached down and yanked the plate of food away from Jim. "Hey," the younger man protested. "Give that back. It was good."

Leonard threw it violently into the nearest trashcan. He ripped the chair next to Jim out from under the table and sat down moodily. "Oh, I see what's going on here," Jim said. "You were worried about me. But because you're a big, strong Southern man who's been raised to keep his sensitive side buried deep down, you can't admit it. That's cool."

Leonard slammed his bag down onto the table, purposefully opening it and retrieving his medical bag. He propped it open to where Jim could plainly see the full array of hyposprays he had stored. Jim eyed them warily. "If you touch even one of those, I'm going to blow my rape whistle."

Knowing—hoping—full well that Jim had no such whistle on him, and that no one would take anything he yelled seriously if it was Leonard chasing him, Leonard picked up one of the hypos. Jim tried to scoot away, but Leonard reached out and hooked his foot on the leg of the chair, pinning it in position. Faster than anyone had a right to be while that hungover, Leonard grabbed a sedative and jammed it onto Jim's neck, swelling with satisfaction when Jim yelped and tried to jump away, only to fall out of his chair. The medication took over before he even hit the ground.

Calmly, Leonard closed his bag, stood from the table, and left the cafeteria.


	15. Chapter 15

It wasn't often that Nyota could convince Spock to meet her for drinks with Gaila. Spock didn't seem to know exactly how to handle the Orion. Most people would probably just assume that he was indifferent to her, but after the past few years, Nyota had learned to pick up the very, very subtle changes in Spock's expressions and postures.

The two just didn't seem to get along. They were certainly civil to each other, and Gaila was respectful of the fact that he was her superior officer. But while Gaila did appreciate Spock's physical qualities—she described his ears as precious—she found his personality to be lacking. Nyota had tried to explain that it was simply Vulcan mannerisms, but Gaila had brought up the valid point that Spock was also half human. For his part, Spock recognized Gaila's intelligence and competence—she worked on simulations with him—but he found her to be boisterous and flamboyant. Spock appreciated control, and in social settings, Gaila lacked that.

But Gaila was Nyota's best friend, and Spock was her lover. So for her sake, they occasionally played nice.

And so Nyota was pleased when Spock agreed to come out drinking without any fuss. Not that a Vulcan really fussed the way a human or any other species did.

They convened at a bar a few miles from campus that evening. Nyota almost never met up with Spock in places where there were too many Academy personnel. It wasn't that she was ashamed of her relationship, far from it. It just wasn't their business, and Nyota hated gossips—at least when she was the topic of talk.

As they were off campus, Nyota and Gaila had elected to wear party dresses. Nyota particularly liked the one she was wearing, a white piece that really brought out the mocha color of her skin. Gaila was in her usual short, revealing and black number. Spock arrived a few minutes after them. His sharp eyes swept over the room, caught sight of them, and he walked briskly over.

He was dressed simply in Vulcan clothing, his culture's version of slacks and a shirt. It was about as casual as Nyota ever saw him—when clothed, that is. And although she appreciated what he wore outside of his uniforms, she had often wondered what he'd look like wearing human clothing. She imagined the jeans that would hang low on his slender hips, the way the crisp and tailored shirt would stretch across his chest. He'd look good in a scarf.

Gaila nudged her with a wink as Spock sat down, one brow just slightly arched.

A waiter was quick to come around. Spock ordered a glass of red wine. The alcohol in the drink wouldn't affect him at all, but Nyota knew that he sometimes enjoyed the tastes. The waiter turned to the women, who were still pouring over the drinks menu. "What is this," Gaila asked, turning a flirtatious and winning smile to him as she pointed a gold painted nail to the picture of a large red pitcher.

"That's the Category Five, ma'am," the waiter said.

"Yes, I can read Standard," Gaila said. "What does this Category Five refer to?"

"It's our strongest drink," he said. "It's a play on the bar's name, Hurricane."

Gaila titled her head, and Nyota clarified, "It's a rating system on hurricanes, which are basically big tropical storms. A category five hurricane is the most destructive."

"Ah, I see," Gaila said. "What is in this drink?"

"Rum," the waiter answered.

"And what else?"

"Rum," the waiter said, grinning largely.

Returning the expression, Gaila said, "Well, then, we'll take a pitcher. And don't worry about bringing cups. Just two straws."

The waiter laughed. "By law, I need to bring you cups, even if you don't use them."

"Yes, yes," Gaila said, waving him off in the direction of the bar. "Just don't forget the straws."

The waiter walked away chuckling, and Nyota said, "We're going to be extra classy tonight, aren't we?"

"If by extra classy you mean that my underwear is in real danger of not surviving the night, then yes," Gaila answered unabashed.

Nyota saw Spock's brow make an odd little twitch and knew that had he had even the slightest bit less control, he might have said something along the lines of "What, you're actually wearing underwear?"


	16. Chapter 16

It started with a simple message.

"_Reach down the front of your pants and feel around for a while. When you find your balls, leave the library and meet me at the bar."_

It almost didn't matter how much work he had to do. Leonard couldn't ignore a request like that. But when he woke up the next morning to a splitting headache, a wide assortment of messages from Jim, and a complete blank about how the entire night had progressed, he wondered if maybe he shouldn't step back and reevaluate how he made his decisions.

He was still skimming through the messages from Jim when the man in question stumbled into his dorm and into his bedroom. Jim collapsed on the bed, almost draped over Leonard, and groaned in pure agony. "Jim, what did we do last night?"

"There's like ten credits for anyone who can tell me," Jim responded, his words slightly muffled.

"What's the last thing you remember," Leonard asked.

Jim lifted his head up, brows tilted in deep thought. "Um, maybe something about burritos. I don't know."

Leonard arched a brow, moving his PADD down where Jim could see the screen. "Do you take shrooms before every instance of sending me messages," he asked.

Jim read the text and guffawed. "I am a God damned poet when I'm wasted," he said proudly.

Leonard took back the PADD. "I find it simply astounding that you spelled drunken wrong but pterodactyl right."

"I know which words are important," Jim said. "Do any of those messages say anything about where we were or what we did?"

"Not yet," Leonard said, almost wincing at how many more unread messages he had. "It's probably time to break out the bank statements." He pulled up his accounts and gaped. "Why is there a forty credit charge to Taco C? You can feed ten people there for five credits!"

Jim laughed again. Frowning, Leonard brought up Jim's accounts. Then he grinned. "Well, Jim, it looks like your tab last night at Handlebar was eighty credits."

Jim jerked upright, reaching out to grab the PADD to see for himself. "It was dollar beer night," he exclaimed, completely aghast. Pleased that he had come out on top that night, Leonard slid off the bed and walked into his bathroom. Grabbing his toothbrush, he set to ridding himself of cotton mouth.

"Oh, hey, you got a message from Uhura," Jim said. "She says that we were both acting a fool when she saw us at Madisons. Apparently we were the drunkest people there by a significant margin."

Leonard rolled his eyes. He was too old for shit like that, but it seemed he regressed in maturity every time he got within twenty yards of Jim.

"Don't worry," Jim continued on. "I sent her back a message. Told her that we were beautiful drunken butterflies among sober caterpillars."

Leonard spit out the toothpaste. Nyota would know in an instant that Jim had sent that message. "Jim, will you stop going through my things and get up? You've got class."

"Fuck that noise," Jim responded, and Leonard could hear him making himself more comfortable on the bed.

"You're awake and functioning, Jim," Leonard said. "And you'll be even better when I hypo you with the hangover spray. There's no excuse to not go."

"The parties, Bones," Jim said. "The parties out here are fucking awesome, and my attendance records reflect that. I don't want to go."

"You're such an infant," Leonard said, stripping off his shirt to get into the shower. He stopped short, staring down at his forearm. It was covered with scribbled lines from a marker. Slowly, he stepped over to the doorway. "Jim," he said, "I found something else we did last night."

"What's up," Jim asked, peeking his head out from under Leonard's comforter.

"On my arm, I have a score card from when we apparently had a competition to see who could harden his nipples the fastest," Leonard said, eyes still trained on his arm.

"Who won?"

Leonard jerked his head up, his brows spasming slightly. "Really," he asked. "That is your concern right now?"

Jim shrugged. "Like we haven't done weirder things," he said. And Leonard had to admit he was right. "What I'm more curious about is what methods we used." He waggled his brows, and Leonard threw the tube of toothpaste at him.

"Get up, you moron," Leonard said. "And get ready for class. I'm walking you down there myself to make sure you go."

Jim snorted. "Fine," he said. "But if the first sentence isn't something about weed or the nature of chocolate, I'm coming right back here and going to sleep."


	17. Chapter 17

Most of the nurses at the Academy clinic--Captain Pike and a few admirals included--had a running bet as to when Leonard McCoy and Jim Kirk would finally fall into bed together. Over the past three years, the bets had begun to grow ridiculous. At first, the nurses had guessed that the two men would just find the right time. Then they supposed that one of them would eventually grow tired of doing their dance and make the move. But then again, maybe they'd need to have some good drunk sex to realize what everyone else had picked up on. By now, scenarios involving trips to Vegas wedding chapels or backwater planets with hostile natives or zombie apocalypses were the norm.

At the center of this all was Christine Chapel, bookie extraordinaire.

Christine took all bets, no matter how ridiculous. Because, quite frankly, their level of denial was ridiculous. Christine had been making jokes about the two men for years now, and Leonard regarded each and every single one of them in a manner that let Christine know that he honestly didn't see the chemistry—the God damned blinding sparks—between himself and Jim Kirk.

Christine liked Leonard. He was a top-notch doctor, probably too smart for his own good. She couldn't figure out what he was doing in a military setting as he took orders about as well as a brick wall. He didn't care for the rules and regulations the brass set. If he thought something needed doing, he did it, and he did it his way. He didn't take crap lying down. He stood up and fought. He was damned good at what he did, but he was humble. He didn't strut through the hospital halls—he more prowled and God forbid someone got into his way.

One of Christine's favorite things about him was that he didn't talk down to the nurses. He treated them all with respect, whether they were his nurses or not. His decency had made almost all the nurses rather loyal to him. He probably wouldn't ever use the power—unless he needed extra hands hunting down and containing Jim Kirk during a physical—but he had a veritable army under his command.

Something else Christine loved about Leonard was that he was from the Deep South, specifically Georgia. While she honestly had no desire to enter into a romantic relationship with him—she much rather liked to imagine him with Jim Kirk because, good God, how hot was that—that accent of his made her want to ravish him at least a little bit. It was the general consensus of all the nursing staff. Plus, being that he was a Southerner, aside from being an old-fashioned gentleman, he could hold his own in all the nursing gossip circles. It was something none of the other doctors could keep up with, and Leonard overheard some juicy stuff.

In regards to gossip, Christine found that Leonard had a simple philosophy. _"If you don't have anything nice to say about anybody, come sit by me."_

On Monday morning when Leonard staggered into the clinic, crashing into one of the chairs at the nurses' station and burying his head under his arms, Christine immediately slid over, ready to hear the full account of whatever nonsense the doctor had gotten into that weekend. Several other nurses hovered by, doing a very poor job of pretending to check charts. "Good weekend, doctor," Christine asked.

"My liver broke up with me," Leonard mumbled, his voice muffled against the counter. Christine didn't bother to contain her laughter.

"At your age, shouldn't you have figured out your limits," she asked. "Isn't that the whole purpose of college?"

"I know my limits," Leonard said. "I sometimes choose to ignore them. And I'll have you know that I was the undefeated beer pong champion in my fraternity for two years."

"I guess that's saying something," Christine said. "You'd have been—what—sixteen?" She paused. "They let you into a fraternity when you were sixteen?"

"I was a quadruple legacy," Leonard said. "Good family and good money can really get you places." Christine arched a brow. That must be some damned good money for a bunch of college boys to let in a kid who could barely drive.

"Well, Doctor Alcoholic From A Young Age," Christine teased, "are you going to tell me what shenanigans you got into that has you in such a sunny disposition this morning?"

"After all this time you still need an explanation," Leonard asked. "Jim Kirk. It's always that damned boy."

One of the labor and delivery nurses—Mary Kern—stopped pretending and stepped over. "What did you boys do," she asked.

"Tequila shots," Leonard said. "Fuck tequila. It does this every time."

"You really need to see someone about your alcohol problem," Christine said. He gave an odd little grunt, and she knew he would be glaring at her if he could bring himself to lift his head.

"Are you going to spill the details of your debauchery or not," Mary asked.

"All I know is there were tequila shots, we filled up Pike's bathtub with Skittles, and then nothing," Leonard said.

That was enough for all the other nurses to stop faking disinterest. A few squealed, and they all hurried over. "What were you doing in Captain Pike's quarters?"

"And where in God's name does one find enough Skittles to fill a bathtub?"

"I don't know," Leonard sighed. "Something about tasting the rainbow."

The nurses continued to hound him. Apparently the three men had gone out for drinks, and the high levels of testosterone present had demanded that they attempt to show each other up with the sheer amount of liquor that they could consume. Christine assumed that Leonard had been fine while they were still on whiskey. The man drank the stuff like it was water. But tequila always got him. She had seen that personally. After getting lost in a forest, which looking back, Leonard guessed was really just that group of six or seven trees in front of the Communications building, they had decided to try to attract a leprechaun by making their own rainbow.

How were these men members of Starfleet?

"All right," Christine said, finally taking a sliver of pity on him when he curled in on himself more to escape the nurses' giggling. "Go on, ladies, back to rounds. You can hassle him more at lunch."

"Spoil sport," Mary said teasingly as the nurses all slowly filtered away. Christine turned back to Leonard, chuckling at the pathetic lump. She pulled his PADD out of his white coat and synced it up with the nurses' station. She skimmed through, checking the status of his patients.

The PADD suddenly beeped, and Christine didn't need to see Jim Kirk's name flash across the screen to know that the message was from him. Leonard had a specific ring set to any calls and messages from Jim. "Incoming message," she said.

"Read it," Leonard said, not moving from under his arms. "I can't stand the light of day right now."

Christine shrugged. She'd probably have gotten to hear what it said anyway. She opened the message and snorted. "He wants to know how long is the appropriate waiting time between having sex and playing Super Mario Brothers."

Someone who was less familiar with the relationship between Leonard and Jim—or even just less familiar with Jim Kirk in general—might have been taken aback by the question and the answer itself, especially the speed with which Leonard delivered it. "If he's with Gaila, no wait. If not, then six minutes."

Christine dutifully typed the message and sent it along. She walked around the partition and poured a cup of coffee from the fresh pot. Most of the medical staff was particular about coffee. They always demanded the real thing and scoffed at a replicated cup. She brought the mug back to the station and placed it in front of Leonard. "All right, you big baby," she said. "Time to get up. You've got patients to attend to."

He muttered something under his breath that Christine was sure would have made his mother frown, but he picked his head up and greedily snatched the cup of coffee. She handed him his PADD and called as he shuffled off, "Remember that appendicitis surgery after lunch." He held up a hand to show he heard her before turning a corner.

The surgery that afternoon went off without a hitch, not that Christine expected anything different. Even a massive hangover couldn't stop Leonard from being the best doctor in the clinic. The patient was stitched up and wheeled back to his room for recovery. Christine stood at the sink with Leonard, washing her hands and arms thoroughly.

Leonard stepped back off from the sink and pulled his soiled scrubs shirt over his head and reached for a clean one. He got the thing over his head and his arms through the sleeves when Christine jumped over, grabbing the hem and holding it up under his nose. "Chapel, what the hell," he barked.

Christine stood there, gawking at a very large red spot across his collarbone. "Is that—is that a hickey," she asked.

"Hm," Leonard asked. "Where?"

"Do you not look in the mirror when you dress," Christine asked, pushing him in front of a mirror. "There."

Leonard's jaw dropped as he got a good look. His expression was a nice marriage of shock and anger. "God damn it, Jim," he muttered.

"What," Christine cried, not bothering to contain her excitement. "Did you two finally—?"

"You're like a damned teenager," Leonard snapped. "No, I didn't have sex with that fool of a manchild, and I don't intend to."

Christine arched a brow at him.

"We may or may not have drunkenly made out," he admitted. Her other brow joined the first. "Again," Leonard added.

"Do you see how I might come to certain conclusions about your relationship," she asked.

He frowned, cheeks turning red. "Like you've never had a drunken hookup before."

"Not constantly with the same person," Christine said. "How many times does that make now?"

Leonard huffed. "You're the one that keeps track," he said irritably. She grinned. Of course she kept track. She would need to check through the books on her next break and see if anyone had made a call on this one.

Leonard pointed a threatening finger at her. "Stop it, Christine," he said. "Not another damned word."

"Fine, fine," she surrendered, and he forcibly yanked his shirt down, grumbling under his breath about all the hypos he was going to stab Jim with as he stalked from the room. God, talk about innuendo. She followed after him. "Still, you two must really go to town on each other. That hickey looks like a map to Amelia Earhart's whereabouts."

* * *

Wow, thank you so much to everyone who has been giving me such positive feedback about this story. I so glad y'all are enjoying it. Well, the chapters are all caught up with what I had written so far, so updates won't be as frequent. But this story has a sequel, same concept, just when they're on the Enterprise, so I'll be posting the few chapters I have done for that in the next day or so. I hope y'all enjoy those too, and keep reviewing!


	18. Chapter 18

Warning: severe lack of anything remotely resembling plot

* * *

Jim dropped his tray down on his and Leonard's usual table in the Academy cafeteria. Leonard was already there, the remnants of his lunch still on the plates. He was stabbing his fork at a bowl of peaches, a particularly sullen scowl on his face as he muttered under his breath about replicators.

Leonard really did look like a crazy person from a distance, Jim mused.

"I've come to a conclusion, Bones," Jim said, trying to pry Leonard's attention away from what he considered inadequate peaches. Leonard made a noncommittal noise. Jim had learned over the years to take that as a sign that he had Leonard's undivided attention. "I feel like I spend my weeks apologizing for my weekends."

"Yeah," Leonard said, "and I spend my months apologizing for your weeks. That brilliant deduction have anything to do confusing those Andorian twins on Friday or throwing up on Uhura's lap on Saturday?"

"Possibly both," Jim said. "But facts are facts, Bones. Those Andorians still slept with me."

"How glorious for you," Leonard said dryly.

"You're never excited about any of my sexual conquests," Jim whined. "Even when they're you."

"We have never slept together," Leonard reminded him.

Jim waved him off. "We're like one scotch off it," he said. "And considering the way you drink scotch, I'm just saying. I mean, I'm not saying. I'm just saying."

Leonard didn't look impressed. "Jim, I'm not proud of the fact that I can pick your puff and stuff out of a line up."

"Oh, he changed since the last time you saw him," Jim said conversationally. "He got a haircut." Leonard rolled his eyes and dropped his face into his hands. Jim just smiled. Really, Leonard needed to stop getting so worked up over this.


	19. Chapter 19

The simple question of "Would you like to meet Joanna?" was all that it took to find Jim on a shuttle to Mississippi in the biting cold of mid-November. It was the South. It really shouldn't be cold like this. There could have at least been some snow to make up for the fact. But Jim didn't complain. He thought Leonard would never ask him to meet his daughter, especially considering that it was a rare enough instance that he got to talk to her or even see her. It stood to reason that on those occasions, he'd want Joanna all to himself.

It was probably more incessant hounding on Eleanora McCoy's part than generosity from the Ex that had allowed for Leonard to get to spend that Thanksgiving with Joanna. Leonard's mother had been more than a little smug when they had all met up at the docks.

Jim wondered if it was some sort of a sign that he fell in love with the little girl that looked all too much like his best friend the moment he met her. She was a beautiful child with dark hair and hazel eyes speckled with green. Her smile was exactly like Leonard's, not that the elder McCoy often showed it. But Joanna seemed to have a permanent smile plastered on her face. She was bouncing off the walls as she walked between her father and Jim, her small hands tucked into theirs.

In addition to a Thanksgiving feast at the McCoy plantation—and holy Christ, Leonard had grown up in a mansion?—they were going to the Ole Miss-LSU football game. As far as Jim had noticed, Leonard had never really been into sports. But apparently that was wrong and Jim just hadn't been paying attention. According to Eleanora, Southern men breathed football. He was to expect over-the-top shouting and cursing while at the game.

The day of the game, they were all dressed from head to toe in red and blue. Joanna had stickers on her face and pom-poms in her hands. On the way down to the Grove, where they would be tailgating, Joanna wanted to stop and grab an ice cream.

"It's freezing out, baby girl," Leonard said.

"But I want one," she begged. "Please, Daddy?"

"Fine, fine," Leonard muttered. "Jim, watch her." And Leonard left them on the sidewalk and stalked into a convenient store. While they waited, Joanna prattled on about what tailgates were like, as Jim had never been to one.

A few moments later, Leonard walked out of the store, an orange-flavored push-pop in his hand and a wicked smile stretching his lips. "Whoa," Jim said warily. "You're looking rather chipper. What happened in there? You run over a small child or something?"

If possible, Leonard's grin stretched as he handed Joanna her treat. "I just gave some LSU fan the wrong directions to the stadium. Welcome to Oxford, asshole."

Joanna snorted with laughter, and Eleanora scolded, "Leonard Horatio!" But she too was smiling.

"So we really don't like LSU, huh," Jim asked.

"Joanna, darlin', what do we tell them LSU jerks," Leonard asked, leaning on his knees to be closer to her eye level.

"Go to hell," Joanna exclaimed proudly, and Leonard clapped her on the back.

"That's my girl," he said. "Now, let's go get our tailgate on."


End file.
